TW: Crossroads (Jack/Ianto) Teen
Title: Crossroads
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Language. Abuse of structure.
Spoilers: Cyberwoman, 1.4; Captain Jack Harkness, 1.12.
Words: 1641
Summary: Ianto's life changed the day he met Jack Harkness, and if he's honest with himself, which he does try to be, he knew it even then.
Thanks to: way2busymom and linaerys for handholding, missyjack and candygramme for looking at an early draft, derryderrydown for super-fast beta and Britpick, and poisontaster for listening to me whinge.
Ianto divides his life in two parts: before Jack Harkness, and after Jack Harkness.
The irony of that doesn't escape him.
Even with Lisa gone, body and brain an icy legacy for some future Torchwood team, he can't escape the guilt either.
He's tried telling himself he might divide his life into three parts: before, during and after Lisa Hallett; or before Lisa, after Lisa, and during Jack, since there really is no after with the time-traveling Jack Harkness. It doesn't work.
It never will.
Ianto's life changed irrevocably the day he met Jack Harkness, and if he's honest with himself, which he does try to be, he knew it even then.
-->X<--
He's cold.
There's a wind off Cardiff Bay full of dead fish and rubbish, and Ianto can't get warm. Wool suit, wool overcoat, leather gloves, but Ianto can't get warm.
He checks his pocket watch. Half-two. The man he's meant to meet should be here already.
The man from Torchwood Three.
Lisa.
He must do this. For her. To save her. She needs him. She has no one else. And he has nothing.
They are alone.
Ianto turns up the collar on his overcoat and checks the sky. It looks like rain, and the pterodactyl is hungry.
"Pteranodon. Nice. It follows you?" asks a man in a billowing greatcoat, also staring up at the sky.
He hadn't been there a moment before. Ianto's certain of it.
This'll be him, then.
"I feed her, sir."
Captain Jack Harkness tilts his head to study Ianto. Brilliant blue eyes give him a hard once over, but Lisa is buried deep. There is nothing to see but what Ianto shows him.
After a moment, the Captain nods. "And she has nowhere else to go."
Ianto shivers and looks away.
"You must be cold. Let's get you inside." It almost sounds like he cares. "Will she be all right without you until my team can bring her in?"
"She's a dinosaur, sir, not a house cat."
A bright, broad grin breaks over the Captain's face. "I like you, Ianto Jones."
Ianto hates him.
He hates him for that smile. And for the steadying hand he places under Ianto's elbow when the pavement begins to descend. For waiting by the coat rack for Ianto to hang his overcoat. And for offering Ianto a steaming cup of coffee from what looks like a fresh pot.
When it turns out to be terrible, he hates him just a little less.
The Captain grimaces when he tastes his brew, then sets the striped mug next to an untidy stack of documents. "As you can see, I'm very much in need of logistical support."
"An office boy."
"A caretaker."
Ianto weighs the word and finds it fitting. "I do make excellent coffee, sir."
The Captain pushes up from his desk and puts out his hand.
It's warm.
-->X<--
It's not as simple as before Jack, cold and alone; after Jack, warm and safe.
No straight line axis where one leaves off and the other begins. No one-to-one correspondence.
It's rather more of one and…one plus one. Or minus one, plus one and one again. A series of not-so-simple sums.
There is something excessive about Jack Harkness without it being superfluous.
He aggregates, inevitably.
It was little things at first. Learning how Jack took his coffee, then how the others did, the better to be unobtrusive and invisible. But also, Ianto can't now deny, to be appreciated.
Naming the pterodactyl, because Jack insisted all things Torchwood be named, numbered and known. Then naming other things mostly to amuse him.
Enduring Jack's flirtations, for Lisa. Ignoring them, but enjoying them in secret. Then indulging them and flirting back.
By the time Jack demanded his allegiance, Ianto wouldn't have said no even if he'd had the will to try.
--> X <--
He doesn't know the time.
Water bounces off the tiles, spills sluggish with bits of blood and bone toward the drain. It's over; he's failed. Lisa's gone. What does it matter, the time?
His teeth chatter. He shakes. Cotton and wool stick to him, hold him together under the spray.
"The water's cold, Ianto. Why? There's plenty of hot."
Jack is standing over him, hand in the flow. Ianto doesn't know when he came.
"Hot will set the stains, sir." Truth, though that's not why.
The bottoms of Jack's trousers darken, wet. He turns on the hot, then slides down the wall and settles beside Ianto.
Jack's fist tugs his hair again, pulling him in and down. Ianto shudders but doesn't move away.
"I'm not sorry."
"I know." Neither is Jack.
It's understood.
Ianto had to try. For Lisa. Jack had to stop him. To save the world. And his team. Of which Ianto may still be a part.
If he will be. If he stays.
The water runs clear and Ianto stands. Jack follows him up, turns off the shower. Cups the back of Ianto's neck.
"I expect you'll fuck me now, sir."
Shadowed blue eyes give him a long once over. "If that's what you want." It's not a question, and Ianto's grateful.
What he wants is immaterial. This is what he has.
Jack takes him to bed.
The clock reads eleven-thirteen when he complies.
-->X<--
The problem with marking time according to Jack Harkness, Ianto realizes, is that he's neither a fixed point nor a repeating pattern.
Or if he repeats, his periodicity's far too long for Ianto to encompass.
Even when he stands to talk -- perhaps especially then -- Jack's a moving target. He's inherently unpredictable, a zig-zagging arrow through time.
Today's "after Jack Harkness" may be "before" again tomorrow, and yesterday's "before" may be tomorrow's "after."
Ianto's reached a state of aggregation such that he's forever chasing "after Jack Harkness" throwing himself toward the space where Jack has lately been and trying not to bash his head against the walls when Jack's gone on ahead.
-->X<--
Ianto's alone.
Jack is lost in time, trapped in 1941 with Toshiko, swing band music and the Cardiff Blitz. Gwen and Owen are here and now, Gwen off doing what she must and Owen what he will. Only Ianto's left behind, alone, with no knowing what to do.
"Ianto cleans up after us, and gets us everywhere on time… And he looks good in a suit," Jack told Gwen when he let her in.
This much, he can do.
Ianto has no need of his suit, since Janet won't appreciate it and he'd rather Gwen and Owen didn't. So he lays aside the jacket and sets about putting things straight.
First Myfanwy, still his charge. Next the Weevils must be tended, by Jack's command.
Done in the vaults, he climbs the stairs to Jack's aerie. Files his paperwork, then calls to cancel an appointment for which Jack would be sixty-seven years too early or an eternity too late.
Tasks completed, Ianto checks the time. It doesn't matter.
He's still alone.
"As you can see, I'm very much in need of logistical support."
"An office boy."
"A caretaker."
Jack's caretaker.
No sense making coffee yet. Jack prefers it fresh-brewed, hot, and far too sweet. Besides, Jack will probably be tired. He'll protest he doesn't need rest but crawl right into bed.
Clean linens will help Jack sleep. When he gets back.
The old ones carry Jack's scent. And his. Ianto sits and breathes the two of them together. Then rises to make the bed.
He's not long tucked the last corner when Gwen radios with Tosh's readings and the cog door rolls to admit Owen at a run.
The numbers are insufficient but Owen has the missing piece. He wants to use the Rift Machine. Thinks it will be the answer.
Jack would forbid it, so Ianto tries.
It's no shock when Owen won't listen. When he bolts for Jack's office to open the safe. Nor when he kicks Ianto in the ribs to take the blueprints Ianto's rescued.
With Ianto down, Owen thinks he's out. But Jack depends on Ianto and he has his orders. No one's to meddle with the Rift.
He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, then stands and pulls a gun. "You have to let Diane go. Like I did with Lisa."
Owen sneers. "Don't compare yourself to me. You're just the tea boy."
But he is much more than that. Jack needs him.
Ianto pulls the trigger. For once, Owen's surprised by something he's done. It's all for nothing; it's too late.
Owen bleeds, yet the Rift is opening.
Ianto failed.
But Jack is home.
-->X<--
Ianto divides his life into two parts: before Jack Harkness and after Jack Harkness.
The irony of that does not escape him.
Even with Jack here and gone, Ianto's head bashed in for chasing after, he cannot escape the truth of it either.
He's tried telling himself it's no use marking his life by a moving target. But time moves too: in second hands, in setting suns, and in frenetically zig-zagging arrows.
Jack's excessive and erratic. He always will be.
Yet over time, Ianto's learned the appearance of anticipating Jack. The trick is in planning for all eventualities, then moving quickly enough to arrive alongside Jack or just behind, ready with his coffee, coat or gun.
Tonight, the machine's shut down. And the others have gone.
They are alone.
From the break room, he radios Jack. "Captain?"
"Yes, Ianto?" He sounds tired. "Is everything okay?"
"Fine, sir. You should rest. It's been a day."
"I haven't finished my report yet."
Ianto smiles. In this small thing, at least, Jack Harkness is predictable. "I took the liberty of changing your linens, sir."
"On second thought, Ianto, I'll see you there."
-->X<--
Notes: I was supposed to be writing a fic for a private challenge with derryderrydown and poisontaster with the prompt "the first time Ianto fucks Jack." If you made it this far, you can see this obviously isn't it.
Not so obviously, it actually is. The progression of this fic that I hesitate to call a story moves from Ianto's first encounter with Jack, through his menial engagement with him, his aggregation into Jack's team in spite of himself, his demonstration of loyalty after betrayal through the surrender of his body, into willingly following Jack's lead and finally taking some initiative.
My plan for the fic, when I still thought it was porn, was that Ianto would extend that initiative beyond an acceptance of their physical relationship to actively soliciting it. And that that solicitation would be marked by him fucking Jack. I still think that's what happens when they meet in Jack's cubby after the close of this fic, but the porn is superfluous like Jack is not, and so I left it off.
On the other hand, the challenge was for a story in which Ianto fucks Jack. So this fic is not it. It's a crossroads through which I had to pass first.
There will be a bantery Jack topping from the bottom to get Ianto to roger him proper. Soon. Expect it when you see it.
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/Ianto
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Language. Abuse of structure.
Spoilers: Cyberwoman, 1.4; Captain Jack Harkness, 1.12.
Words: 1641
Summary: Ianto's life changed the day he met Jack Harkness, and if he's honest with himself, which he does try to be, he knew it even then.
Thanks to: way2busymom and linaerys for handholding, missyjack and candygramme for looking at an early draft, derryderrydown for super-fast beta and Britpick, and poisontaster for listening to me whinge.
Ianto divides his life in two parts: before Jack Harkness, and after Jack Harkness.
The irony of that doesn't escape him.
Even with Lisa gone, body and brain an icy legacy for some future Torchwood team, he can't escape the guilt either.
He's tried telling himself he might divide his life into three parts: before, during and after Lisa Hallett; or before Lisa, after Lisa, and during Jack, since there really is no after with the time-traveling Jack Harkness. It doesn't work.
It never will.
Ianto's life changed irrevocably the day he met Jack Harkness, and if he's honest with himself, which he does try to be, he knew it even then.
-->X<--
He's cold.
There's a wind off Cardiff Bay full of dead fish and rubbish, and Ianto can't get warm. Wool suit, wool overcoat, leather gloves, but Ianto can't get warm.
He checks his pocket watch. Half-two. The man he's meant to meet should be here already.
The man from Torchwood Three.
Lisa.
He must do this. For her. To save her. She needs him. She has no one else. And he has nothing.
They are alone.
Ianto turns up the collar on his overcoat and checks the sky. It looks like rain, and the pterodactyl is hungry.
"Pteranodon. Nice. It follows you?" asks a man in a billowing greatcoat, also staring up at the sky.
He hadn't been there a moment before. Ianto's certain of it.
This'll be him, then.
"I feed her, sir."
Captain Jack Harkness tilts his head to study Ianto. Brilliant blue eyes give him a hard once over, but Lisa is buried deep. There is nothing to see but what Ianto shows him.
After a moment, the Captain nods. "And she has nowhere else to go."
Ianto shivers and looks away.
"You must be cold. Let's get you inside." It almost sounds like he cares. "Will she be all right without you until my team can bring her in?"
"She's a dinosaur, sir, not a house cat."
A bright, broad grin breaks over the Captain's face. "I like you, Ianto Jones."
Ianto hates him.
He hates him for that smile. And for the steadying hand he places under Ianto's elbow when the pavement begins to descend. For waiting by the coat rack for Ianto to hang his overcoat. And for offering Ianto a steaming cup of coffee from what looks like a fresh pot.
When it turns out to be terrible, he hates him just a little less.
The Captain grimaces when he tastes his brew, then sets the striped mug next to an untidy stack of documents. "As you can see, I'm very much in need of logistical support."
"An office boy."
"A caretaker."
Ianto weighs the word and finds it fitting. "I do make excellent coffee, sir."
The Captain pushes up from his desk and puts out his hand.
It's warm.
-->X<--
It's not as simple as before Jack, cold and alone; after Jack, warm and safe.
No straight line axis where one leaves off and the other begins. No one-to-one correspondence.
It's rather more of one and…one plus one. Or minus one, plus one and one again. A series of not-so-simple sums.
There is something excessive about Jack Harkness without it being superfluous.
He aggregates, inevitably.
It was little things at first. Learning how Jack took his coffee, then how the others did, the better to be unobtrusive and invisible. But also, Ianto can't now deny, to be appreciated.
Naming the pterodactyl, because Jack insisted all things Torchwood be named, numbered and known. Then naming other things mostly to amuse him.
Enduring Jack's flirtations, for Lisa. Ignoring them, but enjoying them in secret. Then indulging them and flirting back.
By the time Jack demanded his allegiance, Ianto wouldn't have said no even if he'd had the will to try.
--> X <--
He doesn't know the time.
Water bounces off the tiles, spills sluggish with bits of blood and bone toward the drain. It's over; he's failed. Lisa's gone. What does it matter, the time?
His teeth chatter. He shakes. Cotton and wool stick to him, hold him together under the spray.
"The water's cold, Ianto. Why? There's plenty of hot."
Jack is standing over him, hand in the flow. Ianto doesn't know when he came.
"Hot will set the stains, sir." Truth, though that's not why.
The bottoms of Jack's trousers darken, wet. He turns on the hot, then slides down the wall and settles beside Ianto.
Jack's fist tugs his hair again, pulling him in and down. Ianto shudders but doesn't move away.
"I'm not sorry."
"I know." Neither is Jack.
It's understood.
Ianto had to try. For Lisa. Jack had to stop him. To save the world. And his team. Of which Ianto may still be a part.
If he will be. If he stays.
The water runs clear and Ianto stands. Jack follows him up, turns off the shower. Cups the back of Ianto's neck.
"I expect you'll fuck me now, sir."
Shadowed blue eyes give him a long once over. "If that's what you want." It's not a question, and Ianto's grateful.
What he wants is immaterial. This is what he has.
Jack takes him to bed.
The clock reads eleven-thirteen when he complies.
-->X<--
The problem with marking time according to Jack Harkness, Ianto realizes, is that he's neither a fixed point nor a repeating pattern.
Or if he repeats, his periodicity's far too long for Ianto to encompass.
Even when he stands to talk -- perhaps especially then -- Jack's a moving target. He's inherently unpredictable, a zig-zagging arrow through time.
Today's "after Jack Harkness" may be "before" again tomorrow, and yesterday's "before" may be tomorrow's "after."
Ianto's reached a state of aggregation such that he's forever chasing "after Jack Harkness" throwing himself toward the space where Jack has lately been and trying not to bash his head against the walls when Jack's gone on ahead.
-->X<--
Ianto's alone.
Jack is lost in time, trapped in 1941 with Toshiko, swing band music and the Cardiff Blitz. Gwen and Owen are here and now, Gwen off doing what she must and Owen what he will. Only Ianto's left behind, alone, with no knowing what to do.
"Ianto cleans up after us, and gets us everywhere on time… And he looks good in a suit," Jack told Gwen when he let her in.
This much, he can do.
Ianto has no need of his suit, since Janet won't appreciate it and he'd rather Gwen and Owen didn't. So he lays aside the jacket and sets about putting things straight.
First Myfanwy, still his charge. Next the Weevils must be tended, by Jack's command.
Done in the vaults, he climbs the stairs to Jack's aerie. Files his paperwork, then calls to cancel an appointment for which Jack would be sixty-seven years too early or an eternity too late.
Tasks completed, Ianto checks the time. It doesn't matter.
He's still alone.
"As you can see, I'm very much in need of logistical support."
"An office boy."
"A caretaker."
Jack's caretaker.
No sense making coffee yet. Jack prefers it fresh-brewed, hot, and far too sweet. Besides, Jack will probably be tired. He'll protest he doesn't need rest but crawl right into bed.
Clean linens will help Jack sleep. When he gets back.
The old ones carry Jack's scent. And his. Ianto sits and breathes the two of them together. Then rises to make the bed.
He's not long tucked the last corner when Gwen radios with Tosh's readings and the cog door rolls to admit Owen at a run.
The numbers are insufficient but Owen has the missing piece. He wants to use the Rift Machine. Thinks it will be the answer.
Jack would forbid it, so Ianto tries.
It's no shock when Owen won't listen. When he bolts for Jack's office to open the safe. Nor when he kicks Ianto in the ribs to take the blueprints Ianto's rescued.
With Ianto down, Owen thinks he's out. But Jack depends on Ianto and he has his orders. No one's to meddle with the Rift.
He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, then stands and pulls a gun. "You have to let Diane go. Like I did with Lisa."
Owen sneers. "Don't compare yourself to me. You're just the tea boy."
But he is much more than that. Jack needs him.
Ianto pulls the trigger. For once, Owen's surprised by something he's done. It's all for nothing; it's too late.
Owen bleeds, yet the Rift is opening.
Ianto failed.
But Jack is home.
-->X<--
Ianto divides his life into two parts: before Jack Harkness and after Jack Harkness.
The irony of that does not escape him.
Even with Jack here and gone, Ianto's head bashed in for chasing after, he cannot escape the truth of it either.
He's tried telling himself it's no use marking his life by a moving target. But time moves too: in second hands, in setting suns, and in frenetically zig-zagging arrows.
Jack's excessive and erratic. He always will be.
Yet over time, Ianto's learned the appearance of anticipating Jack. The trick is in planning for all eventualities, then moving quickly enough to arrive alongside Jack or just behind, ready with his coffee, coat or gun.
Tonight, the machine's shut down. And the others have gone.
They are alone.
From the break room, he radios Jack. "Captain?"
"Yes, Ianto?" He sounds tired. "Is everything okay?"
"Fine, sir. You should rest. It's been a day."
"I haven't finished my report yet."
Ianto smiles. In this small thing, at least, Jack Harkness is predictable. "I took the liberty of changing your linens, sir."
"On second thought, Ianto, I'll see you there."
-->X<--
Notes: I was supposed to be writing a fic for a private challenge with derryderrydown and poisontaster with the prompt "the first time Ianto fucks Jack." If you made it this far, you can see this obviously isn't it.
Not so obviously, it actually is. The progression of this fic that I hesitate to call a story moves from Ianto's first encounter with Jack, through his menial engagement with him, his aggregation into Jack's team in spite of himself, his demonstration of loyalty after betrayal through the surrender of his body, into willingly following Jack's lead and finally taking some initiative.
My plan for the fic, when I still thought it was porn, was that Ianto would extend that initiative beyond an acceptance of their physical relationship to actively soliciting it. And that that solicitation would be marked by him fucking Jack. I still think that's what happens when they meet in Jack's cubby after the close of this fic, but the porn is superfluous like Jack is not, and so I left it off.
On the other hand, the challenge was for a story in which Ianto fucks Jack. So this fic is not it. It's a crossroads through which I had to pass first.
There will be a bantery Jack topping from the bottom to get Ianto to roger him proper. Soon. Expect it when you see it.